


Ocean Eyes

by JacquelineSparrow



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: F/M, Night Clubs, Original Female Character - Freeform, Pole Dancing, again i will add tags as i progress with the story, i blame david tenant for this, i will add specific tags as i get there, might be human might be else, original lore will be present in future chapters, tagged explicit bc there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2020-06-30 05:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19846174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacquelineSparrow/pseuds/JacquelineSparrow
Summary: Once when she was young, her London vacation took her to a bookshop where she saw two peculiar men. Twenty years later, life brought her back to London where she swears she saw the same man from before in the club where she works. Is this really the same man, or is it just a trick? She will find out, that and much more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I blame David Tenant for this. Him and him alone, entirely. He just Had to go and do that with his hips, and talk like that, and be the bastard that he is. I fought long and hard, but alas, I succumbed to his pelvic sorcery. So here we are. After roughly six years of not writing fic. I am back, bitches. Constructive criticism is welcome. Incoherent screeching and keysmashes also welcome as a comment, you would not believe the ego boost they give. Now, go forth, my children, and read. I will see you again... in Hell.  
> I'm kidding, I'll see you in the notes at the bottom.

Life had been difficult. After she graduated her Bachelor’s in Psychology in her home country, with flying colours, she had decided that going to London to continue her studies was a good idea. And, in theory, it was. She had some money saved up, enough to find a small place to rent in a somewhat shady neighbourhood, and to barely pay for the first year of school. She figured it’d be easy enough to get a semi-decent job that would help her with all the rest.

She was wrong.

As it turned out, experiencing London as a grown-up, on your own, was quite different from what she remembered of her vacation there as a kid. Oh, it had been lovely back then, when she didn’t have to worry about money, bills, getting food, anything. They had gone almost all over the city, sightseeing, and at one point her parents had even agreed to go into the weird antique bookshop she had tugged towards, excitedly shouting in her mother tongue, “Books! Lotsa books! I wanna see the books!”. The owner, she had assumed, who was a friendly looking pale blonde man, clad in fashion a few decades out of date, and a lot of tartan, had smiled at her, almost beaming with light, the lamp behind him making him look like he had a halo from the point of view of the short child. She had looked around in awe, until a suspicious looking copper haired man with sunglasses had abruptly walked in, grabbing the owner by the arm and dragging him away to talk. At that point, her parents had ushered her out quickly and quietly, not wanting to be a part of… whatever shady business those two were about to conduct. For some reason, the memory had stayed vivid in her mind, and she would occasionally remember the crammed bookshop and the serene feeling she had felt there, among all the books, and the friendly smile of the angelic owner.

Going to bookshops in Soho, she reminded herself, was not really something she had the time, or the money for. Between going to classes during the day, and working during most nights, she barely had time to sleep, let alone go shopping; so instead, she would just fondly remember how she had felt back then, and try to extract as many endorphins out of that as possible. “Endorphins? In this economy?” she had whispered to herself once and laughed. Indeed, endorphins could not be spared in her situation. No time for a personal life, left no time for joy, no time for the sheer human experiences most of her peers reveled in. Drinking alone at home sometimes, she would swirl the liquid in her glass and think about how lovely it would be to have a normal job, perhaps even a boyfriend would be nice. But, in this economy, none of these things could happen.

*

She walked in the club through the staff entrance at the back of the building, and crossed in front of the bar to get to the dressing room, like she did every night. Just like every night, it was starting to get packed and busy, with people taking seats near the stage, some of them in the secluded booths in the back. She was about to open the door to the dressing rooms, when suddenly, while glancing at the booths, she did a double take.

There sat a man, with copper hair, clad in expensive black clothing, wearing absurdly expensive designer sunglasses. She could scarcely believe her eyes. Was this just a trick of the mind? It could not be the same man from twenty years ago, it was impossible. At the least, if it was, he should have aged a little, but the man sat there, looking not a single day older than what she could swear she remembered.

“Hey, Tom,” she called to the bartender. “Look at the back booth over there, do you see the guy sitting there?” she nodded her head in his direction, trying not to be overly obvious.

“The weirdo with expensive taste and sunglasses in a night club? Why?” The bartender asked while wiping a glass and putting it back on a shelf.

“Has he… been here before? Why haven’t I seen him?”

“He shows up from time to time, most of us figure he’s a mob boss or something. Arms dealer, maybe? The guy is weird and everyone’s been creeped out by him. Occasionally he asks for private dances, tips insanely well, but never asks for the same girl twice,” Tom said and shrugged.

“Why have I never seen him before?” She asked, trying to convince herself that this was all just coincidence, it was not in fact the same man, and her mind was just playing tricks on her. There was no mystery here, and certainly nothing out of the ordinary.

“Well, you’re relatively new, and the last time he came was over a year and a half ago.”

“So he comes that rarely, but you still take note of him?” just coincidence, nothing more, she reminded herself. No conspiracy here.

“Like I said, Big Tips,” he emphasized the last two words.

She looked at the man once more, trying to take in as much detail as possible, and compare it to her memory, but she told herself, like any self-respecting psychologist would, that this new impression was overlaying with the memory and changing it, thus leading her to believe the two men looked alike. She shook her head, and entered the dressing room.

She pulled the outfit out of her bag. Black lace with gold thread woven throughout, almost regal, and a lace mask, that would barely cover anything. She put the mask on the vanity table, the lace on the chair, put her long auburn hair up in a loose bun, and started on her make-up. Everything had to be perfect tonight, as this was going to be the first time she performed the new dance she’d been working on, and the raise of her salary depended on it. The owner of the club, an odd woman in her early fifties, looking very well preserved for her age, had given her the chance to be, sort of, the main event of the evening. A lot hung in the balance here, and she’d be damned if she would let some weirdo with sunglasses ruin this for her. With a huff, she went back to applying her eye shadow.

*

The club was getting more crowded, but thankfully for him, no one dared approach the booth he had claimed for himself. It was very rarely that he indulged in this particular part of humanity, but this was one of the more low-key, classier clubs, where a lot of vulgarities that were the driving money making power in most other clubs, were frowned upon here. The music was usually better and not the typical white trashy garbage you’d hear in your generic strip club, and that for one was a big improvement in and of itself. The other one was that even the dancers kept it classy, meaning they simply danced, and no actual stripping of clothes was necessary on the stage. It was explained, however, to the wealthier patrons, that, should they so desire, a girl would be found to deliver a private dance in one of the rooms built specially for that, where the dancer would keep or discard as many items of clothing as the patron desired. It was also explained that, of course, this came with the appropriate price. Crowley however did not particularly care for this overly casual nakedness, hence his avoidance of the lower class of similar establishments.

He had vaguely noticed the girl who asked about him, while pretending to just casually chat with the bartender, thinking he wouldn’t notice simply because she just nodded in his direction instead of pointing. He supposed he did make quite an impression to a human, dressed as he was, oozing an aura of expensiveness and looking somewhat criminal. He hadn’t seen her the last time he was here, it seemed she was new. He definitely would have remembered the long auburn hair and those piercing blue eyes; her gaze had almost been unsettling to him for a moment, as he thought, there might have been some grandparent in her lineage somewhere that dipped their toes in the pool of dating magical creatures. That would explain the feeling, she was just human after all, even if she was one that looked particularly striking, and maybe vaguely familiar.

A few girls came out on stage and performed their routines, some to sultry tunes, others to something slightly more upbeat, and after a particularly bubbly and energetic blonde went behind the curtains at the end of her routine, the lights dimmed, and the music quieted. There was a small pause of several seconds, where people finished hooting their approval of the dancer, and then the club was dead silent. A spotlight shone on the curtains, signaling that something particularly interesting was about to happen.

True enough, the sound of a sword dragging on stone was heard, and a somewhat ominous humming echoed from the sound system, accompanied by haunting beats. With the first beat, she came out between the curtains. Dressed in black lace, interwoven with golden thread, lace mask on her face, and stylish black heels that seemed impossibly tall, her long auburn hair falling freely down her shoulders and back.

_Bite my tongue, bide my time, Wearing a warning sign, Wait 'til the world is mine…_

He could swear he felt a breeze go through the club as she moved forward, slowly, light on her feet, with the grace of a feline predator. He was entranced by her movements.

_Visions I vandalize, Cold in my kingdom size, Fell for these ocean eyes…_

For a split second, she looked at him, with her piercing blue eyes, and he could have sworn she was looking right through to his demonic soul, or what was left of it anyway. Her gaze felt heavy on him, powerful, dangerous, new and yet familiar. The whiskey is particularly strong tonight, he thought to himself as he took yet another sip, trying to not let these human emotions of nervousness get to him. Ridiculous, he thought, a simple human, that is all, with eyes that are frighteningly blue. As the beat of the music dropped, her long fingers gripped the pole, and she started moving, her movements so graceful, he almost thought the air carried her.

_You should see me in a crown, I'm gonna run this nothing town, Watch me make 'em bow, One by one by, one. One by one by…_

In sync with the lyrics, she mimicked placing a crown on her head, and he could have sworn that wind blew through her hair in that moment, as her whole demeanor, and the aura about her suddenly shifted, and felt ancient, yet brand new and powerful. Strong drinks, he thought to himself, and some fan cleverly hidden backstage; nothing more to it, simple tricks to fool simple minds. The girl continued to move through the space as if she was air itself, spinning around the pole like she weighed nothing. At a few moments he caught himself almost gaping, but every time he closed his jaw quickly, before it could become noticeable. When her routine was done, silence fell over the club for a few seconds, and not a sound was heard. Crowley looked around him, all the people in the establishment seemed almost hypnotized. Entranced by this siren or sorts, this obviously new girl, who was young and ancient at the same time, human yet maybe… She slowly and graciously bowed, letting her silk hair fall down in an auburn waterfall, and with a quick spin, she withdrew behind the curtain. Slowly, murmurs started to be heard throughout the club, everyone silently praising what they had just seen, commenting how unusual it had been, the choice of song, the choreography, the wind effects, that must have cost a fortune to install, they said. Crowley smirked to himself, thinking that he would remember the girl with the ocean eyes who should be wearing a crown, and would definitely visit again, and soon, and perhaps have a closer meeting with her, just to put his mind at ease that she was, indeed, just a human. Standing up slowly, he threw a fat wad of cash on the table, walked by the bar, and called over the bartender.

“What can I get you, sir?” the lad said as politely as he could, having already glimpsed the bills Crowley had left on the table, which were swiftly collected by one of the waitresses.

“That girl, that just performed, I saw you two talking earlier. You’re close with her?” Crowley asked nonchalantly.

“We have worked together for nearly a year, yeah. I’ve done a pretty good job of protecting her from the unwanted attention of strange men,” he added almost defensively.

Crowley smirked, as if this human would be any match for him if he decided to make trouble. Luckily for the lad, such things were below Crowley’s… something-resembling-honor-and-moral-code, as much as a demon could have those things.

“See to it that she gets this then,” Crowley said as he slid several hundred pound bills towards him. “Oh, and, for you, as you seem to be a very successful bodyguard.” A few more hundred pound bills appeared on the counter. “Have a pleasant evening,” Crowley drawled, and headed towards the exit, while the bartender stood there with his mouth agape.

*

She sat in her chair, eyes wide, looking at the bills on her vanity.

“Tommy, you can’t be serious,” she said. She took the bills in her hand, counted them again, and placed them back again. “Tommy, this is almost four thousand pounds.”

“Yup.”

“Almost four thousand pounds, Tom. And you’re saying he left this as a tip specifically for me?” she could hardly believe it. Things were getting weird, but Tom had mentioned earlier that the guy basically did have money coming out of his ears, he certainly looked it, but still, she thought. “Are you absolutely sure, Tom? No mistake? It was him, and he left this money,” she took the bills in her fingers again, “for me?”

“I’m telling you, you must have done something to the guy. I caught him basically picking his jaw off the floor a few times while watching you,” Tom said, with a smirk and one eyebrow lifted. “Which reminds me, Tess wants to talk to you. She looked pleased,” he winked at her, and left the dressing room.

She looked at the money once more, then quickly shoved it in a small zipper pocket inside her bag. She quickly dressed in her normal clothes, heading for the owner’s office, where she knocked, and went inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One weird meeting after another, and an interesting book found by chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bad at chapter summaries, I'm sorry. I'm still untangling some of the ideas inside my head of how exactly I want things to go, trying to figure it all out. So please, be patient with me. And if there's any constructive criticism or comments, they're more than welcome!

It had been an odd night, a wild night, a great night. She had been worrying herself stupid for the past few weeks, perfecting the new routine every spare moment she had at home, and her mind had more than once unwittingly floated back to a memory of an antique bookshop, a radiant and kind middle aged man, and a black clad, copper haired man with sunglasses. It’s just the stress, she told herself. That’s why she thought it was the same man in the club last night. Obviously it’s impossible for someone to not age a day for twenty years, no matter how good their skin care routine may be. After all, when you keep thinking of yellow cars, you start seeing yellow cars, right? It was just her subconscious playing tricks on her. Even though he had looked odd when she looked at him during her dance, she could have sworn she saw something… inhuman through his sunglasses. Maybe he had been her good luck charm, whoever he was. The performance had went without a hitch, and Tess had given her the promotion she so craved. Finally, she’d be able to afford to pay rent and eat three meals a day every day. And, considering the ridiculous tip she’d gotten from Shades, she figured she could even spoil herself a little bit.

That’s why, around noon, when she had woken up, she dressed herself and went out. She wandered around a bit, without direction really, thinking about what exactly to treat herself with. Somehow, without even realizing it, she had ended up in front of a very familiar store front. Looking around, she remembered reading an article about a weird fire, from about a year ago, that had erupted and engulfed the shop, but somehow here it stood, without so much as a memory of a burn mark to be seen. The renovation team must have been wizards to do a job that good. She wondered if the old owner was still working, if he would still wear out of fashion clothes, and if she would once again get that feeling of serenity, surrounded by the smell of books. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, she entered the shop.

To her unimaginable surprise, it looked exactly the same as she remembered. Every little bit inside, all the bookcases, the displays for the rarer copies, even the same angel wings mug on the desk in the back. She looked around, wide eyed, barely daring to breathe, to move, lest she disturb this memory which had somehow unfolded itself around her.

Finally breathing again, she stepped towards a shelf with foreign literature, having spotted, oddly enough, a book whose title seemed to be in her native language. She slowly stepped towards it, and gingerly took the old, leather-bound book in her hands. Gently, she caressed the cover, tracing the letters with her fingers. “History of the Balkans’ Witches and Their Clans,” she whispered quietly in English.

“Quite an interesting read, very old as well. Barely survived through the war that was raging on the peninsula for the better part of a millennium,” a warm voice came from behind her.

Startled, she turned around, and her eyes went wide once again. It was the blonde man, with the same out of fashion clothes, and same warm and radiant smile. She almost dropped the book.

“I…. I..” she stammered, not really knowing what to say, trying to force her mind to come up with some explanation as to why this man looked exactly the same as he had twenty years ago. Not a day aged, not a single wrinkle in sight, nothing to suggest that the passage of time had affected him at all. “Uh… have you read it?” she finally blurted out.

“I’ve browsed through it a couple of times. An interesting enough read, if you believe in such things, of course.” He smiled, as if he had just told some secret joke. “How did you come to look for this book?” he asked, seeming genuinely curious.

“I… I’ve been looking for something like this, but it’s been impossible to find anywhere,” a small measure of the truth wouldn’t hurt, she told herself.

“Ah, you need it for a paper for school?” he smiled warmly. She had read in online reviews that it was common for the owner to let students use the books in the shop for their papers, so she thought she’d roll with that.

“Y…yeah, sure, I need it for school. I’m writing a paper on.. uh… how more educated women were accused of being witches, simply because they were better at healing than some holy men,” _damn_ , she thought, _I really pulled that one out of thin air._

“Oh, that’s quite an interesting topic. A global phenomenon, to be sure, but why did you need a book specifically for that region, if you don’t mind my asking?” he looked her up and down, as if trying to place something about her, but not quite succeeding.

“I’m- ah, I’m from.. the Balkans,” she stammered, “so I figured it would give me a slight advantage, to write about this occurrence in the Balkan Peninsula.” She was really hoping he would buy this crap, otherwise…

“Ah, that makes sense then, I suppose. Well, you are welcome to work on your paper here, and use the book for reference. I’ll be around, in case you need any help with translation.”

She looked at him, dumbfounded, at the invitation, at the offer for help, at how this book seller made absolutely no effort to sell this clearly expensive book, which would have made him a lot of money. She had seen this mentioned in the reviews as well, but she didn’t believe it.

“Actually, I was wondering how much it costs? I’d like to buy it, if I can,” she said, as sweetly and innocently as possible. After all, he is a business owner, and the first and foremost goal of business owners is to make money.

“Oh, I’m afraid that one’s not for sale. It’s very rare, you see. One of only three surviving copies,” he said, beaming with pride at the rarity of his treasure.

“Oh…” she let the disappointment show despite herself. “Would you happen to know where the other two copies are?” she asked casually.

“Part of the private collection of a very wealthy acquaintance of mine,” he smiled, as if having once again told a secret joke.

“Oh. Well, in that case, I would like to take you up on the offer of working on my paper here, thank you.” She looked around, and noticed that there was only that desk in the back of the shop, and no other place that could be used for ‘research’ and ‘writing her paper’. “Shall… shall I just head over there?” she asked, pointing to the desk.

“Of course, dear. Just call if you need any help,” the man smiled at her, and walked into another part of the bookshop.

She was feeling all sorts of different emotions in that moment, her head almost spinning, trying to comprehend everything. The owner being the same, and not having aged a day in the span of twenty years. The book just being here, right in this bookshop, right now, of all places and times, and she stumbled on it, just like that. The unbelievable luck that she could stay in the shop and browse the book as much as she liked, without having to spend any money for it. She would have preferred to own it, but this would have to do. She could always steal it, she thought, but… it felt wrong, somehow. Stealing from that man, in particular. She looked around, made sure that the man was out of sight, and quickly went through the pages, looking for something particular, while mumbling to herself in her native tongue. She found the page she was looking for, and for a moment, she froze. Looking at it, not quite believing what she was seeing. Quietly, she took the phone out of her bag and took some photos of the page in question, as well as several others. Just as she was about to pull a notebook from her bag, and start writing something down, she heard the bell above the door ring.

“Aziraphale, where are you? We need to talk,” a male voice called, as steps sounded through the store.

“Over here, Crowley,” the owner, Aziraphale, replied.

Such weird names, she thought, and carefully turned to look over her shoulder at the man who’d entered the shop. She almost gasped, putting her hand over her mouth to keep herself quiet. It was the man from last night, the one with the copper hair and sunglasses, the exact same one from twenty years ago. Not aged a single day, just like the shop owner. Very, very quietly, she closed the book, took her stuff, and snuck out of the store, without either of them seeing her.

This was, without a doubt, one of the weirdest days in her life. As she walked to the bus stop, she pulled out her phone, and zoomed in on one of the photos she’d taken of the book, staring at it, then, as she passed a shop window she stopped, and looked at her reflection for a moment, then the phone. Shaking her head, she continued to the bus stop, making a mental note to get one, or several, bottles of wine before she got home.

*

“Listen, angel, I’m telling you, there was something weird about that girl from last night. The way she looked at me, it’s like she was seeing right through me,” Crowley said, circling Aziraphale and looking around the shop.

“Crowley, dear, you’d been drinking, you said yourself. And you know that such establishments do not provide the highest quality of alcohol,” Aziraphale said, providing him with logical and reasonable explanations. “Combine that with the odd, loud music and other special effects, it’s perfectly normal for you to have gotten a strange feeling.” Even while he was saying this, the angel looked as if he only half believed it himself.

“There’s something weird about her, and you won’t convince me in the opposite,” the demon said stubbornly, already thinking of ways to see the girl again and figure out what it was about her that unnerved him so.

“Well, you know that there have been a lot of magical creatures which… consorted with humans in the previous centuries. Perhaps one of her grandparents is one such offspring,” Aziraphale said, vaguely waving his hand around, “and it’s just that sliver of magical ancestor that you’re picking up on.”

“You may be right, angel,” Crowley said, feigning defeat. “I guess I’m still a bit jumpy after the whole end of the world ordeal. “I’ll be off now, have… demonic things to take care of. I’ll see you later, angel.” Crowley didn’t so much as wait for a reply before he left the shop.

Already he was thinking of when he would go back to the club, seeing the girl again, from up close this time, to figure out what it was about her that made him feel the way he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I was worried about how it would turn out. As I mentioned, I'm still trying to figure out how things will go in the story, how fast exactly I want it to progress, exactly how much of my original lore to include so as not to have it be too overwhelming... But, for all you other gutter-minded thirsty bitches like me, if things go according to the vague plan I have, there should be smut in either the next chapter, or chapter four.  
> Anyway, let me know what you think of this chapter!  
> And see you in the next one!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A private meeting and a name revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in this chapter our two idiots (one of them being the OC, this is a term of endearment in my vocabulary) will finally meet face to face, and after a page and a half of yelling "Now kiss!" at them... they do. I really hope you like it tbh. Also, my music taste is weird and my choices of song for her pole dances are questionable at best. Since the first dance will make a reappearance, I'd just like to remind that the song from it is "See me in a crown" by Billie Eilish. If you haven't listened to it, then what are you even doing with your life?  
> Anyway, enjoy some pining and snarky remarks between our favourite snek boi and my beloved maybe-human girl.

That night he arrived a bit later at the club, and look as he might, he simply didn’t see when she got in, but he definitely noticed when she came out on stage. This evening’s choice of song for her performance was slightly less surprising than the last, Marilyn Manson’s “Tainted Love”. The performance this time was definitely a lot more acrobatic, leaving the people in the club loudly gasping a few times, and still it seemed like she was air itself when she moved. Crowley noticed a waitress approaching him, and she leaned in to remind him that there were rooms for private dances, should he so desire. He thanked her and informed her that yes, indeed, he would like that very much, and requested the mysterious Ocean Eyed girl to be the one to perform the dance. The waitress told him that she’d let him know when the room was prepared. He leaned back in the soft plush cushions of the booth, crossed his long legs, and waited.

*

When she walked off the stage and behind the curtains, she could still hear the loud cheering that followed her from the club. Now that she had gotten her raise, Tess was more willing to compromise on songs and let her pick music closer to her own taste, which in turn had elevated her performances. She was at the next level, and it was evident by the people that were coming in, the tips that were left. It had been a week since the raise, and since the last time she saw Shades, Crowley was his name, she remembered; and honestly, she had hoped that the next time she saw him would not be so soon. Not with everything she was trying to figure out now, that would take up enough of her time. She didn’t need to add to it figuring out the mystery of Shades McGee and Tartan Party and how they hadn’t aged a day in twenty damn years. Shaking her head, she went into her dressing room, setting down the lace mask on the vanity. Troubles for another day, she told herself, and took a sip of her water bottle.

Her joy, however, was short-lived, as a knock came on her door, and shortly after, one of the waitresses entered.

“You have been requested for a private dance,” the waitress said. “The hot shot in the back booth, the one with the sunglasses.”

“You can’t be serious right now,” she sighed, running her hands through her hair. Just when she thought she wouldn’t have to deal with him…

“I wouldn’t decline if I were you, he tips like he’s made of money.”

“So I’ve heard…” she thought for a second. Maybe this was actually a good chance to figure at least something out about him, if she could. “Alright then,” she agreed with a sigh, “do we have a room ready?”

“Yeah, we’re preparing number six for him. When will you be ready?”

“Just need to freshen up my make-up, bring him there in ten minutes,” she said, and grabbed a make-up brush to fix her eye shadow.

*

He was brought into a soundproof room, at one end of which was a long, plush sofa, not that dissimilar from the booths in the club, and a small stage with a pole and curtains behind it.

He made himself comfortable on the plush seats, and waited. A few seconds later, the curtains opened and the girl walked on stage, with the lace mask on her face. She casually leaned on the pole, fixing him with her stare. He could see her eyes roam all over him, even more blue and piercing this close, as if she were looking for something, but couldn’t find it. Her outfit was made of shiny black leather, separate top and shorts, revealing her midriff, and very high black heels, which made her slender legs look even longer.

“Any particular song you’d like?” she asked, still leaning on the pole. When she didn’t get an answer, she repeated, “Is there a particular song you would like me to dance to, or should I pick it myself?”

“Perhaps you could repeat last week’s performance,” he replied. “It was quite breathtaking.” He had quickly looked around the room and had found no fans anywhere, so he was curious to see if the breeze would make an appearance again.

“Alright,” she said, made a couple of steps to a small touchscreen on the wall, selected the song, and then went back to the center of the stage, getting in position.

The song started again, with the sound of a sword dragging on stone. He noticed this time, there was a pentagram tattooed on her lower back, and he smiled to himself. Her movements were even more entrancing now that she was closer to him and he could see her better, the grace with which she moved even more impressive. He found himself almost holding his breath, and as she mimicked placing a crown on her head again, he felt the light breeze, saw it move her hair. Quite interesting, he thought, we shall see about this.

As her dance ended, and she remained on the stage, knees spread on the black surface, head thrown back, he noticed her breathing was a lot calmer than it should have been. She lifted her head, brought her knees together and looked at him.

“Would you come closer, please?” he asked.

He saw her get up, almost reluctantly, and step down from the stage. She walked towards him, but stopped when she was a few feet away.

“Closer,” he demanded. Then he saw her point to a neon sign that said ‘No Touching The Girls’, he sighed. “Very well, then.” He got up and walked closer, until he was right in front of her. They were the same height, thanks to her shoes. “Tell me… what’s your name?”

“What do you want it to be?” she asked, and he could tell she was feigning the confidence as she stood up straight and didn’t shy away from his gaze.

“Quite well trained, I see. Your real name, darling… Please,” he added.

“We’re not allowed to give our real names, sir. I’m sure you realize the potential danger it holds for us. But you can call me Autumn, if you’d like.”

“Autumn, huh? It does fit your hair, I suppose,” he said as he reached out and took a strand, letting it slide through his fingers. She didn’t react to his movement, he realized, she was studying him, but he noticed her breathing get quick and shallow, like prey cornered by a predator. “Interesting choice of tattoo, Autumn.” He said almost casually.

“Right back at you,” she said, looking at his sideburns, where his own snake tattoo was. “I had a witch phase, what’s your excuse?”

Moving his face even closer to hers, he said, “I’m really into snakes.” He felt her breath hitch in her throat for a moment.

“Is there anything else you’d like, sir, or can I go now?” she asked.

“Another dance would be lovely. You choose the song this time,” he turned and went to sit back again.

The clack of her heels carried in the small room as she walked back to the stage, going to the small touch screen, browsing through the song library.

“Fast or slow,” she asked, and half turned her head toward him.

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

She shrugged, made her selection, and walked to the center stage again.

Soon the music started, and he had to say, he really was surprised this time. Out of all songs, he did not expect that this one would be used for a pole dance routine.

_Give it to me slow, give now to me; Scream in my ear giving life to me; Come feel confusion, it's illusion, it ain’t real; Your love, your lust, could never feel the fear in my eyes; Oh I come to steal, give it all to you, give it all to me…_

He could tell that all her movements were very deliberate and well-practiced, the way she moved on the stage, almost effortless, but he could tell there was something different about her this time. Her energy seemed to have changed, he could feel some sort of tension emanating from her, as she kept throwing glances towards him, and he could have sworn he saw confusion in her eyes.

_Give into the fire, don't blame it on me; The devil's your desire now, no, ain't no shame on me; Give into the fire, get down on your knees; I don't want you to love me, no, just give it all, give it all to me…_

The final chords of the song sounded, as she slid down the pole, to her knees, and quite deliberately looked at him.

“Would that be all?” she asked, out of breath this time.

“I do believe that was… quite enough,” he said as he stood up and looked her over once more. She did look quite good, for a human girl. “Thank you for… your performances.” He said, and after leaving a wad of bills on the soft cushions, left the room. Quite enough, indeed, he thought, as he headed for the club’s exit.

*

As soon as he was out of the room, she slowly walked to the sofa, trying to calm her breath, a long string of elaborate curse words going through her mind, that would probably put veteran sailors to shame. She counted the money, and almost whistled. A tip of five thousand pounds didn’t happen every day, or ever, really, no matter how wealthy the patrons were.

Exiting through the small door behind the curtains, she walked quickly to her dressing room, almost angry with herself. Where had her resolve gone? She had been adamant to remain calm and neutral the whole time. The last thing she had expected, was to find herself drawn to him. When he was standing in front of her, her heart had started beating so fast and so loud, she thought he could hear it. How unfair it was, that this mysterious, un-aging man was dangerously attractive from up close. His jawline, his lips, the curve of his crooked smile, the snake tattoos, and his neck… oh, his neck… No, she told herself, this is ridiculous. He was still a customer, and she a dancer, even if you left the whole anti-aging bullshit aside. It would be inappropriate. And he wasn’t even her type, really, far from it, and yet… there was just something about him that tempted her so… She shook her head, scolding herself that this simply won’t do, as even after meeting him up close, she was nowhere near to figuring out the mystery of Crowley Shades McGee and Aziraphale Tartan Party.

With her mind lost in thought and lust, she dressed herself in her shirt and jeans, removed her stage make-up and applied some black eye liner and mascara instead. After clearing her vanity table, she put on her leather jacket, took her bag and headed for the staff exit, thinking to herself that she was just itching for a cigarette.

As soon as she was out the metal door, she leaned on the wall next to it, pulled out a cigarette, and took out her lighter. Just as she was about to light her smoke, she heard a noise.

“I’m warning you that I have more than a lighter and I know how to fight,” she called out in the dark, and saw a tall, slender figure emerge from the shadows.

“That won’t be necessary,” a familiar voice spoke, as the man came closer to the light, and she saw that it was Crowley.

“You,” she whispered, almost scared, then took in a deep breath and decided that she would do her best to fake some confidence, and try not to give in to the part of her that was telling her how hot he looked. “Thank you kindly for the generous tip, but this is just a club with dancers, we do not offer escort services.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not looking for escort services,” he said as he walked closer to her, coming to stand right in front of her. She noticed that without her heels, he stood almost a head taller than her. “Now, let’s start again,” he said, leaning over her, placing one hand on the wall behind her, next to her head, “May I please know your name?”

“We’re not allowed to give out our real names,” she began the well-practiced line again, but he brought a finger to her lips, silencing her. She swallowed heavily, hoping he wouldn’t hear her heart pounding in her chest, or notice the blush in her cheeks as she tried to keep herself under control.

“I’m aware of that, but we’re no longer inside the club, are we? Here, I’ll go first,” he said, pulling back a bit, extending a hand to her for a handshake, “my name is Anthony J. Crowley. And what might yours be?”

“My name…” she hesitated for a second, tried to be strong, but there was that damn smile on his lips, and the way he had leaned over her had made her knees weak, thinking about the possibilities, she looked at his lips, his neck, his outstretched hand… and tentatively took it in her own. “I’m Irina,” she said.

“Irina, what a beautiful name,” he almost purred. “Tell me, Irina, you look oddly familiar, have we met before?”

“I would have remembered you if we had,” she half lied. “You do make quite the impression.” Her resolve was wavering. He leaned in closer, trapping her between himself and the wall.

“Do I, now?” he lifted a hand to caress her cheek, and she took in a deep breath. “It’s a good one, I hope.”

“It’s… certainly something,” she breathed. He was so close, his slender fingers on her cheeks, so close to her, she could just… as if having read the desire in her eyes, he leaned in even closer and after a moment’s hesitation, his lips were on hers. Light at first, as if testing, waiting, but it was all it took for her resolve to crumble. As she involuntarily let out a soft moan, he pushed her harder against the wall, and deepened the kiss. When he finally withdrew, she instinctively leaned forward, her lips unwilling to let him go. “What… what was that?” she asked, trying to keep her breathing as calm as possible, but failing miserably.

“I think this was exactly what you wanted,” he said, and abruptly pulled back from her, no longer holding her against the wall. “Don’t act so shocked, Ocean Eyes… you knew you wouldn’t resist the temptation, there’s no need to pretend.” She hated the way he sounded so full of himself, but more than that she hated that he was right. “Your performances have been truly wondrous. I’ll be seeing you again,” he said and walked away.

She stood there, unlit cigarette still in her hand, still trying to process what the hell had just happened. She slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. Again she was trying to rationalize everything, that it had just been physical instinct. She had been alone for a long time, and physical closeness was something her body craved, and that was the only reason why the kiss had felt so good, the only reason why she now felt a ball of tension in her lower abdomen, as she slightly shifted her legs. It’s just been a really long time, she thought, that’s all.

But even so, she couldn’t stop thinking about how he felt pressed against her body, his lips on her own, so gentle at first, then hungry and almost desperate, or maybe that was just her…

When she fell asleep that night, she dreamed of snakes, of long slender fingers roaming her body, dark sunglasses, and for some reason, she dreamed of apples, and strong, stormy winds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thank you for reading! I hope you liked this chapter! How was the tension? Enough? Too much? Not enough action? *wiggles eyebrows* If all goes according to plan, there will be smut in the next chapter, which should be done and uploaded soon.  
> *Disclaimer* I have no idea if night clubs like this actually exist, or if there are clubs with "private" rooms, but for the purpose of the story let's assume that they're a thing.  
> Got any comments? Questions? Criticism? Leave me a comment! I'll be more than glad to read it! See you for the next chapter!  
> *hint* The song from this chapter is W.A.S.P.'s "Into The Fire". Peep the lyrics of all songs for hints about the characters and their relations, and foreshadowing for the future.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've got to stop meeting like this, but secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse is a fickle and unpredictable thing, so there's no smut in this chapter, as I had originally planned. It is, however, definitely in the next chapter, so keep your eyes peeled for that. My music choice may continue to surprise, but oh well. The typical songs associated with pole dancing I consider to be more appropriate for a strip dance, which this isn't, and I'm trying to get a bit more creative with the lyrics and hint at things with them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

It had been a week since Crowley had gone back to the club to look for Ocean Eyes, Irina, as she had introduced herself in the alley, and he thought that meeting her in person would put his mind at rest, but it didn’t. So much so that he had found himself waiting for her in the alley behind the club, where the staff entrance was. When he had trapped her between himself and the wall, he thought it would be nothing to him, but he had felt his entire body tense up, his heartbeat quicken. Even more so when he saw her breathing heavily, when he noticed the pulse at her neck quicken with his approach, and when he finally leaned in and tasted her lips… he could have sworn he felt a breeze rise up around them in the alley. He felt other things as well, things he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt a primal, carnal hunger, a desire, he felt tempted for once, but most of all, he felt like his trousers had gotten too tight for him, and suddenly he didn’t trust himself not to do something stupid, so he’d pulled away, and left her there with a snarky remark on his part. Even after that he was no closer to figuring her out, and it maddened him. The way she had made him feel maddened him. It was supposed to be the other way around, he thought to himself, him tempting the humans, but this human girl tempted him. Her piercing blue eyes, her auburn hair, her pale skin, the freckles he had noticed from up close and without the mask, those soft lips, the feel of her skin under his fingers…

He paced angrily around his apartment, so much, that he could have made a path in the floor from his footsteps alone. He was so consumed by the mystery of her, that he hadn’t even yelled at his plants. And he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he had seen her somewhere before. He was angry at her, at himself, at the world. It was ineffable. It was annoying. It had to be put to an end.

*

She could scarcely believe that a week had passed from her meeting with Anthony J. Crowley, also known as Shades McGee, and from that devilish kiss. Temptation had coiled inside her stomach like a snake, and it refused to leave her alone. Despite herself and her best judgment, she found herself looking at the back booth every night, searching for him, and getting angry at herself for doing it, and for feeling a pang of disappointment when she didn’t find him there. After all, Tom had told her that the guy only showed up like twice a year at best, so what were the chances he’d come back a third time within the span of a month, right?

After that night though, there had been more requests for private dances from her, and the patrons requesting them did leave pretty good tips. Not as good as Crowley’s, but still better than most, and she felt like her bank account hadn’t been this happy in years. Happier still that she could finally afford installing a pole in her apartment, so that she could practice her routines in the comfort of her own home. It had been truly amazing, and almost perfect, she dared think, if it hadn’t been for this insatiable hunger that now lied awake and in wait, deep inside her.

Having quickly become the new hot commodity in the club, it was no surprise to her that private dances kept being requested, so when the waitress, Anna, walked in and told her of another one, she just fixed her make-up and headed for the room, entering through the back door, and sneakily peeking through the curtain before showing herself. She almost gasped when she saw who was sitting on the couch, butt slumped forward on the seat, leaned back, knees five miles apart.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” she said with a smile when she emerged from the curtains. He smiled back, and she felt the snake of desire in her belly uncoil and move. This time, though, she would resist. “Any particular song in mind for this evening?”

“It seems that you best perform when you choose your own songs, darling, so I’ll leave it up to you… Take my breath away,” he smiled that crooked smile of his. She wouldn’t give in this time, she told herself again.

“As you wish,” she said and moved to the small touchscreen on the wall, browsing through the songs again before making her choice.

The music started, and she began to move slowly.

*

Her choice of song, it seems, would never cease to amaze him. Neither would the way she moved around the pole, as if gravity meant nothing to her.

_My church offers no absolutes, she tells me worship in the bedroom… The only heaven I’ll be sent to, is when I’m alone with you…_

Her movements were graceful, and slow, and almost magical. As the final chords of the song sounded, she slid down the pole, leaning far back, and remained so for a few seconds, catching her breath he assumed. When he didn’t speak, she got up to her knees.

“Would you like a second dance again?” she asked, looking at him, and fixing the ribbon that held her mask to her face.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” he said politely.

“My choice of song again?” he only nodded in reply, curious to see where her music tastes would take them this time.

After having made her selection, she moved to center stage again. The beat of the music started, and he could see her hesitate for a moment, then again, he felt something inside her shift, and a soft breeze moved her hair. Admittedly, Arctic Monkeys was not a band he would have thought he’d hear, or see a pole dance performed to, and yet, here he was. And there she was. Swinging her hips, then spinning around the pole, working her magic, and looking at him every chance she had.

_I had no idea that you're in deep; I dreamt about you near me every night this week; How many secrets can you keep'…_

Suddenly she stopped moving, standing at the edge of the stage, looking at him.

_Do I wanna know… if this feeling flows both ways…_

She stepped down from the stage, and made a step towards him.

_Sad to see you go, was sorta hoping that you’d stay…_

Then another step, and another…

_Cuz baby we both know, that the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can’t say tomorrow day…_

Next thing he knew, she was right in front of him.

_Crawling back to you… ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few? Cause I always do…_

Moving even closer, she lifted a leg and put a knee on the couch, next to him. Then she placed an arm on the back of the couch, and lifted her other knee, placing it on the other side of him, on the couch.

“The sign says-“ he began to say, but she put her finger on his lips.

“Technically, _you_ are not touching me…” she lowered her body on him, straddling him.

Suddenly, he was painfully aware of how close she was, the warmth coming from her skin, the scent of her hair, her finger still on his lips. She took it away, and instead ran her hand through his hair, then both her hands were going through it, and, having let his guard down, he didn’t notice how her fingers brushed against his glasses and tipped them down a bit… not until he saw her eyes go a bit wide and her eyebrows raise just a tiny bit. Damn that girl, had she seen his eyes? What would he do now? Play it off as a trick of the light? Or be forced to wipe the past few seconds from her memory?

*

She stared at him. At his eyes. Which were yellow, and their pupils much like that of a cat’s. A snake, more like, she thought, and looked at his snake tattoos.

“I can explain,” he started, but then stopped. He was trying to think of a lie. She looked at him intently, trying not to betray any emotion, and given the absolutely mind-boggling realism of the eyes, she could easily rule out contacts, or a body-mod.

“Explain away, then, because I’ve been dying to ask. I’ve been dying to know… what exactly you are, Mr. Crowley,” she asked, but didn’t move an inch, keeping him trapped under her. His pupil’s went a bit wide. The music was still playing in the background, so she was confident that no one would hear them. “See, I have seen you before, but you wouldn’t remember me.”

“Where have you seen me, pray tell?”

“At Fell’s bookshop,” she said, and he didn’t seem much surprised, until she added, “Twenty years ago… when I was seven years old.”

“Okay, I can… I can explain, I have really good genes, and.. and, a very good skin care routine, and I exercise a lot and-“

“Cut the crap, I know you’re not human,” she said, and his mouth dropped in shock. “I know Tartan Party isn’t human either. That guy, Aziraphale.”

“Tartan Party?!” he said shocked, but she saw a hint of a smile on his lips at the nickname. “Wait… you’re not shocked, and not scared.”

“Listen, where I come from, I’ve seen shit. Weird shit. I’ve known that not-human things lurk among us since I was like ten, and I finally have proof of it, so I can calm down and stop thinking I’m losing my mind.”

“About that, I have been meaning to ask you-“ he began, but she interrupted him.

“All I want to know is, am I in any danger? And I mean like, are you gonna murder me, or feed on me, or sacrifice me to some eldritch horror or use me as a vessel for a long lost love?”

“Wow, you… you’re really covering a lot of ground there, aren’t you?” he said, then shifted slightly in his seat under her, and she told herself that she just imagined the heat between her legs, and the slight bulge that seemed to have appeared in his pants. “To answer your question, no, I won’t do either of those things, and while we’re at it neither will… Tartan Party, that’s a good one actually, I’ll have to remember it… and you’re not in any immediate danger, so you can cross that off your list. Now I’m going to put aside the fact that you’ve seen me when you were a child, and I’m going to ask a few questions of mine. First off, where are you from, Irina? Your name is Slavic in origin, but you don’t look it, and your accent is American.”

“Is that what you wanna know?” she was a bit surprised, honestly. “I’m from a small Balkan country, but have been learning English since a kid, and I’ve had more American influence in my life, hence the accent. Mystery solved.”

“Oh but another thing… We established that I’m not human,” he said, and calmly took off his glasses, placing them on the seat beside them, and reached up, removing her mask from her face. “But what about you?”

*

He placed the mask on the seat next to his own glasses, and looked deep in her eyes, looking for a sign of fear, or anything.

“I am human. One hundred percent human, though if I’m to trust my great-grandmother, _her_ great-grandfather had an affair with a forest nymph and thus his daughter was born. But I very highly doubt that,” she said, and ran a hand through her long hair, fixing the few strands that had went out of place as he took off her mask.

“Ah. That would explain the exceptional beauty, then,” he said and even in the dim lighted room saw a blush rise to her cheeks. The room around them had gone quiet. “Ah, song’s over,” he said, and he saw something shift in her eyes, as if realization had struck her.

“So it is,” she said, took her mask and got off him. “Oh, don’t worry, by the way. Your secret will be safe with me, Anthony J. Crowley,” she said and looked at him with what he could have sworn was sadness in her eyes. “Thank you for your patronage of the club.” And she disappeared behind the curtains.

This girl, she herself was like the wind, timid at first, then wild for a minute, and after that gone, no sign that she’d been there, apart from the feeling she left on his skin.

*

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she yelled at herself inside her mind while heading back to the dressing room. Why did she have to go and do all that? She hadn’t thought it through at all, and she hadn’t expected his eyes to look… like that, not at all. She shouldn’t have moved his glasses, she shouldn’t have been so bold in asking and revealing what she knew. He’d taken it all quite better than she expected, even though his questions were weird, but now she felt like she had painted a target on her back. He’d said he didn’t plan to murder her, but how could she know? He might as well have lied, and she’d be none the wiser.

While she was removing her make-up, Anne popped back in and gave her a roll of bills, ‘From Shades, specifically for Autumn’ she said. Another five thousand pound tip. She took a breath and held it in. He wouldn’t be leaving her a tip if he planned to murder her, right? Quickly, she reapplied some eyeliner and mascara, put on her normal clothes, grabbed her bag and again headed out of the staff exit. She squatted down next to the door, back leaned on the wall, took a cigarette out of her bag and lit it, then took out her phone.

She was browsing through the photos she had taken of the book, and she was looking at one she’d quickly taken of the title page. “History of the Balkans’ Witches and their Clans”, she looked at it wistfully. What she wouldn’t give to own that book, run her fingers on the pages, smell the old paper, absorb all the forgotten knowledge hidden inside...

“That’s an interesting read.” She heard a familiar voice above her.

Looking up, she once again saw that it was Crowley.

“We’ve really got to stop meeting like this,” she tried to joke, hiding the slight fear that crept up her spine. She put out her cigarette, and got up. “You know this book?”

“Oh, I do,” he said and as he said it, he moved in front of her, pinning her to the wall, leaning down close to her face. “I’ve browsed it once or twice. Quite useful information, for those who believe in witches,” his breath tickled her lips and she felt the fear being replaced by desire and heat.

“Ah… for those who believe, yes…” she said, weakly. “It’s good I don’t believe in such supernatural nonsense,” she hoped he’d get the hint. His secret really was safe with her. Besides, even if she did tell someone, no one would believe her. “Do you always lurk in alley ways behind night clubs?”

“Only if I’m waiting for a pretty girl,” he said, and before she could speak again, he kissed her.

She felt herself melt against him. He had her firmly pressed against the wall, one hand on her cheek as the other snaked to grab her waist. She roughly shoved her phone in her jacket pocket and reached her hands up to his collar, pulling him closer, pressing herself against him. She slightly parted her lips, and he took the invitation, his tongue meeting hers. She could have sworn she saw stars and felt as if the ground would disappear under her feet. Just as she moaned softly, she felt his leg pressing between her own, rubbing lightly against her.

He finally pulled away, gasping for breath, and said, “You know, I’ve got a copy of that book back at my place.”

“What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go,” she said, and he took her hand, leading her to his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was really something, huh? I hope you liked it. If you have any comments, advice, criticism, questions, please feel free to comment. It makes my weird little heart happier than you'd know.  
> Anyway, I'll see y'all in the next chapter and thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dogs sizing each other up before the fight... and a mystery revealed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, this is the chapter where the dirty bits start. For anyone who would rather skip that, that specific part of the chapter will be separated with three * symbols instead of the usual one * I use.  
> For all my other thirsty bitches... take a sip, babes.

She didn’t know what had come over her. This stranger, this… being, with origins unknown to her, had offered an invitation. He had that book, he’d said. Back at his place. Whether that was true or not, she didn’t know, but something wild had taken over her at his touch. As if ancient blood inside her was stirring, hungry, aching for whatever it was Crowley had to offer. Lead the way, her mind had told her, and she repeated it out loud. His car had been a surprise, if she was to be honest. A vintage model Bentley is not what she would have expected of him, being as finely dressed as he was. A newer model, she’d thought, with windows dark and all sorts of modern add-ons that the mind could imagine, that seemed to her like it would be more fitting, but no. She kept silent during the ride, deciding not to question why a “The Velvet Underground” CD had gone in the player but it was “Queen” that could be heard, from invisible speakers it seemed.

When they arrived, he had led her up the stairs. Unlocking the door, welcoming her in. She looked around, the walls were bare concrete, everything so minimalist. Well, she thought, being not-human, maybe he doesn’t need all the material possessions humans do. He did, however, have a lot of plants. Tall, and green, so vibrant and alive, she stopped to admire them. The larger ones somehow reminded her of the ancient forests back home, dark and full of secrets.

*

She had stopped to look at his plants, and he smiled to himself, he took great pride in having the best looking plants in London.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked her.

“Uhm… sure,” she replied, seeming startled all of a sudden.

Turning to a cabinet and smiling to himself again, he couldn’t help but feel that he was the predator and she – his unsuspecting prey. Even if she had come here of her own will. Even if this whole business with the book and the drinks, as he was sure they both knew, was just a prelude. A game, one predator circling another, assessing each other, before the fight began. Before they would give into their carnal urges. He pulled out a bottle and two glasses from the cabinet, pouring the whiskey as if it were a ritual. That bottle, he thought, funnily enough, was quite a bit older than her. But her lips tasted better, he thought, and licked his own, while handing her the glass. Her slender white fingers took it, and she took a sip, smiling appreciatively at the taste. He hid his slight surprise as he had noticed that human women who usually looked like that, were not big fans of harsher alcoholic drinks, yet here she was, eyes closed, almost humming he could swear, at the taste of the whiskey. He smirked, as a new plan formed in his head.

“Quite a nice place you got here,” she said, looking around. “Very minimalist, very odd. I’m digging the throne,” she jerked her head towards it, “gives it a nice goth vibe aesthetic.” She drank again, and her glass was empty.

“Here, let me get that for you,” he took it from her hands and re-filled it, then handed it back, purposely brushing her fingers. The touch should have been nothing to him, but it wasn’t. “I’m glad you like it.”

“So… where do you keep the book?”

“There will be time for that, dear, don’t you worry. I promise I’ll show it to you,” he said, getting closer to her. “But why would you be so interested in it? Nymphs are hardly considered witches,” he added, recalling what she had said her family claimed.

“Ah, true as that is, the other side of my family claims to have had a powerful witch in the lineage, with the name and all, but there has been no way to prove that, other than rumors of a book describing all the witches of the region.” Before he knew it, her glass was empty again.

He almost frowned, this was much too fine a drink to be consumed so quickly, but he could see a sparkle in her eyes already, so he filled her glass again.

“A nymph and a witch? Doesn’t that seem too odd?”

“Clearly you’ve never met a Balkan family. This is downright tame compared to some other claims by people I know. This is a lovely drink, by the way. Don’t think I’ve ever had anything quite so good, or expensive.” She complemented, and took another sip, but then placed the glass on the table. “How about you show me around this place?” she asked, looking at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

*

Her suspicions were correct. He was trying to get her drunk, but why he would be doing that – she couldn’t figure out. She’d already given him more than enough information to satisfy his curiosity. She was in his apartment, so clearly she was down for fooling around too. She couldn’t see another reason why he wouldn’t cringe at the way she’d drank those first two glasses of whiskey, which, she was sure cost more than she could make in two years, tips included.

He led her through the hallway, around the plants again, passed a room that was filled top to bottom with bookshelves and various books. Then they stopped in front of a door.

“I’m a bit hot,” she said, looking up at him, “and a bit dizzy. I think I drank that whiskey too fast. Is there somewhere I can sit down for a bit?” she looked at him, the smirk that appeared on his face, and she bit her lip. The book wasn’t the only thing she’d get out of this, she told herself. He woke something inside her, and now he had to pay. What did she have to lose anyway? The chances of him being worse in bed than the human guys she’d been with were slim to none, so why the hell not.

“Right this way,” he reached behind her to open the door, revealing a bedroom. “I think the bed would be more comfortable than a chair.” He whispered in her ear, and it sent chills down her spine.

Entering the room, she turned her back to him for a second to close the door, but suddenly she froze when she felt him right behind her. His hand snaked around her, going over her abdomen, over her cleavage, stopping on her neck. Now his other arm grabbed around her, and pulled her close, as the one on her neck squeezed a little, and she gasped.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, his mouth next to her ear. “It was never just the book you were after, but you discovered that I’m not human. Is your curiosity not satisfied?”

“My curiosity may have been satisfied,” she said quietly, almost hating herself for having to admit this to herself, to him. For having, despite herself, somehow fallen for him. “…but other parts of me were not…”

***

He turned her around, pressing her against the door. She looked him up and down, with hunger in her eyes, lips slightly parted. Quick as a snake, his lips were on hers, hungry, wanting, surrendering himself to his urges, just as she did. She broke the kiss and quickly took off her jacket, then her shirt, and she reached for him again, hands tangling in his copper hair, lips crushing against his, as she pushed him a few steps back towards the bed. Suddenly, his coat and shirt had disappeared as well, she sensed, and pulled away to look at him. Slender, but with muscles defined under his pale skin, and the V of his hips peeking over his jeans. He took the moment to look at her as well, even though he had seen most of her already. This felt different somehow, her standing there in her black lace bra, jeans still on, but her hair a bit ruffled, chest moving rapidly with her quick breathing, her eyes roaming all over him, as if trying to devour him whole where he stood. Her glance fell down, and she reached for his belt buckle, quickly undoing it, then tugging down on his jeans. She didn’t know what he was, or what powers he had, or what he would do to her, but whatever it was, she wanted it now. He was on the same page, as he grabbed her and pushed her onto the bed, both his and her jeans disappearing, and when he looked, she lay there, her pale skin and black underwear a stark contrast to the red color of the sheets. Despite herself, she blushed, looked at him, still with his glasses on, then sat up and reached for him, dragging him to the bed with a kiss.

“Take them off,” she murmured against his neck, while kissing and biting, “I want to see your eyes…”

A bit taken aback, he lifted an eyebrow as if to ask why, and when she saw this, she whispered in his ear, “The thought of them makes me wet… imagine their effect when you’re looking at me… while inside me,” she brushed her hand against his already hard member.

It was more than he could handle, his glasses were thrown across the room in haste, as he threw her down on the bed, kissing down her neck, then to her breasts, her abdomen, her thighs… as he went, the few pieces of fabric that separated them disappeared, removed by his deft fingers. She spread her legs to make space for him, as he laid on top of her, his manhood brushing against her entrance making her moan. “I want you,” she said quietly, almost desperately, and while she trapped him in a kiss, he entered her.

He moved slow, at first, almost agonizingly so, but then his pace quickened, as did her moans. He was better than she could have ever imagined, and she had to admit to herself that all resistance, and common sense, had left her. His hands roamed over her body, massaging her breasts, dragging across her stomach, then reaching down between her legs, to her clit, as he gently pressed the bundle of nerves, making her see stars. It felt like her whole body was on fire, as if she were going to burst at the seams at any moment. His hand left her folds, moving upwards, and she almost protested, but his fingers wrapped around her neck, and she felt adrenaline rush in her veins. He was looking her in the eyes, his pupils dilated, eyes gone almost all black, and he saw the hint of fear in her eyes as his fingers squeezed, and he quickened his pace even more. Her mind had gone all blurry, not a single coherent thought left, as his fingers remained wrapped around her neck while he pumped inside her, then as he went deeper, her eyes went wide and she screamed. She was close, so close to the edge, she was burning, her breathing hindered by him choking her, but she had never felt better in her life, as he kept pounding and she kept screaming, her nails raking across his back, digging in it, making him grunt and move faster and faster until one final scream tore from her lips and her vision almost went black. Seconds after that, he was done as well, and he pulled out of her rolling on the bed next to her.

His breathing was heavy, chest rising up and down, as he tried to figure out why the look of fear in her eyes had excited him so, and why it had excited her. He could feel burning on his back, where her nails had dug in so hard, she’d almost broken skin, and he was surprised to find that it was a good feeling. Better still, looking at her, eyes still wide and lips parted, as her chest moved up and down, filling her lungs with as much air as she could, an imprint of his hand barely visible on the pale skin of her neck.

Her fingers reached up and touched the skin, gliding over where his had been.

“Not good?” he asked, as if afraid, as if he cared about her. He did, he realized. Despite himself. He couldn’t figure out how or why, but he did.

“Oh no,” she turned towards him in the bed, voice quiet and breathless, “plenty good… perhaps just a warning next time.”

“There’s going to be a next time?” he asked, incredulous. He thought this was all she’d wanted, besides the book. An exotic story to recall.

“If you want… there will be many next times, Crowley.” She moved closer and kissed him on the lips, her hand caressing his cheek.

He thought for a second and realized that he did, he wanted many next times, with her, her soft skin under his fingers, her moans echoing through the room, the feel of her warmth around him…

And she wanted the same. Loneliness was a hell of a burden and she’d had enough of it. But not enough of Crowley. Definitely not enough of Crowley…

***

She didn’t know when they had fallen asleep, or why she had ended up cuddled next to him, his arm around her. But as she woke, she was very careful not to wake him as well, as she gently slid away, and got up from the bed. Her clothes, she found, were conveniently laid on a chair, and she grabbed her panties and her shirt, quickly putting them on, before sneaking out of the room.

Barefoot and quiet, she went to the room with the books she’d seen earlier. It was a pretty safe bet that what she needed was there. Switching the light on, she squinted at first, while her eyes adjusted, then started looking through the bookshelves, gently touching the spine of every book she passed. When she found the book she was looking for, she pulled it out gently, and couldn’t help but admire in what a great condition it seemed to be. Quickly she opened the book and started flipping through the pages, mumbling under her breath, frowning here and there, trying to make sense of the things she was reading.

“What are you doing here?” a voice behind her startled her, she jumped and dropped the book.

Instinctively, she reached for it with her fingers, and the book stopped an inch from the ground, staying in the air for a few seconds, before she saw the way Crowley was looking at her, and she pulled her hand back. The book immediately dropped to the floor, the pages ruffling, and finally settling open.

They both looked down to the book, and suddenly there was shock written all over Crowley’s face.

_“It is said that she was the first powerful witch of the well-known Bulgarian clan, later dubbed ‘The Irinians’, in honor of her. It is still argued how she came about her powers. Some claim she stole them from a forest fae, others say her father was an angel. While this mystery has not yet been solved, it is known that she had many daughters, who had progeny of their own, and all were powerful magic users, with their powers usually leaning towards one of the four elements.”_

Next to the writing, there was a painting of a woman with auburn hair, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes, “Irina, matriarch of the clan, 13th Century” written under it.

Crowley’s eyes darted from the page to the girl in front of him in disbelief.

Irina, the girl standing in front of him, was the spitting image of the woman in the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here we are. After all that. Question is, do we know more, or less, than when we started? After that big reveal at the end? Only time will show.  
> Full disclosure, since I honestly didn't think I'd get this far... I'm not entirely sure how to continue the story from here, I have a vague idea of how I want it to end, it'll just take me a while to get there, so please bear with me while I try to figure out the mess in my head and attempt to subdue my muse.  
> As always, any and all feedback is welcome, incoherent screeching is highly appreciated as well.   
> And thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All cards on the table, there are no secrets left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we will see a slightly softer Crowley, and both our dumb-dumbs will learn what exactly the other one is. I hope you guys enjoy it!

They were sat across from each other, the coffee table between them, serving as some sort of symbolical barrier, not so much protecting, as separating them from each other. A bottle of cheaper whiskey was placed on the table, Crowley’s glass next to it, while Irina clutched hers in her hands. It had been her suggestion to drink something cheaper, as she mentioned she might drink a lot, and she felt like it would be disrespectful to the more exquisite brands Crowley had. The book, opened to the page with the portrait, also laid on the table, like an elephant in the room.

He was trying not to look at her, her bare thighs, body leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees, as she stared at her glass. She lifted her gaze towards him.

“Explanation. Now,” he said, his voice calm, yet demanding.

“That’s not me,” she vaguely gestured to the book.

“Well, clearly, you’re not a seven hundred year old witch, I was able to gather that much.” His tone this time was snarky, almost annoyed.

“Right, well then… tit for tat?” she suggested.

“I think we already did that,” he smirked, and took a sip of his glass.

“I mean, jackass, full disclosure, all cards on the table, I tell you what I am, and what I know about myself so far, and you tell me what exactly you are.” She took a sip as well, then leaned back on the couch, crossing her legs. She noticed his eyes drifting to the movement, and told herself to keep her composure.

“Jackass? Haven’t been called that one before. Alright then. All cards on the table. Ladies first.” He motioned his hand to her as if letting her lead the way.

“What I told you about my family, it’s true. The witch heritage, at least. Jury’s still out on the nymph ancestor, which though not impossible, would be a lot more difficult to prove but…” she sighed. “I’ve been digging and poking around, I figured I was most likely descended from the Irinian clan, started traveling around small villages, talking with any and all who would listen and could give me some sort of information. They, as well as my family, talked about an old book, detailing some of the clan’s history, however it was impossible to find. The only other thing I got were rumors that there was a coven that still existed, hidden somewhere up in the mountains, where a few vigilant witches still guarded old knowledge. Of course, no one knew where exactly it was, and I wasn’t able to find it.”

“That’s because it no longer exists,” Crowley said and looked at her, his eyes almost sad. “I know what you’re talking about, I’ve had my fair share of dealing with witches. The last few of them abandoned the coven, placed strong magic barriers around it so no one would find the buildings. They left to live normal lives, they thought there was no use for their magic in the world anymore.”

“How do you know all that?” she asked, on the edge of her seat now, soaking up every word he said, her eyes teary with emotion.

“Like I said… had my fair share dealing with them.”

“When was my-… their, coven, when was their coven abandoned?” she said, and slid down to her knees on the floor, leaning over the table.

“Beginning of the last century. That was the last I ever heard of them. Didn’t expect there would still be some of them running around, though…”

“As far as I gather, I’m the last direct descendant of Irina’s eldest daughter. There might be others, who knows… I myself was only able to find out because my magic started manifesting when I was young, and the family kept joking that naming me after a witch came with consequences. I also thought I might look like her, based on the descriptions passed down through generations, but… I had no idea the resemblance would be so…”

“Striking,” he finished for her. “Indeed, it is. So, your powers, how well can you use them?”

“How about we leave my powers for another time? Your turn now.” She sat back on her legs. “What are you? That was some serious magic in the bedroom there,” he smirked, and she rolled her eyes, “I mean the clothes disappearing without being taken off. Are you a warlock or something? Is that why your eyes look like that? The mark of a deal with a demon? Sold your soul for infinite power?” he laughed, and she looked at him, confused.

“Oh, darling… I _am_ the demon.” He smirked and leaned forward, taking off his sunglasses and looking her in the eyes.

She almost choked on air, trying to figure out if he really just said what she thought he did.

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you….” She cautiously leaned forward, “I thought you said you _are_ a demon?”

“Correct.”

“As in… from Hell.”

“Yup.”

“Actual literal demon from actual, literal, biblical hell?”

“Yes, what part exactly is not clear to you?”

“Uhm… all of it is clear to me, it’s just… my religious views are… a bit different. So this is a bit of a shock to me. Next thing I know, you’re gonna tell me Tartan Party is a cherub or something.”

“Close enough, he’s an angel. And how are your views different?” he also leaned forward, and noticed that she didn’t move away, or flinch, at his movement.

“You’ve gotta be fucking shitting me…” she whispered under her breath.

“Afraid not. Your religious views?” he questioned again. As far as he knew, Christianity was the most common and traditional religion where she came from, but humans were odd, so who knew.

“I… well… I guess the best way to describe it would be somewhere between agnostic and atheist? I really don’t know what to tell ya.” She saw his face contort in confusion. “It’s confusing, I know. I can’t explain it myself either. At an early, rebellious and uneducated stage in my life I was drifting between atheist and Satanist, with the whole black, macabre aesthetic with the inverted cross and everything,” she saw him open his mouth and she held up a finger, “yes I know the inverted cross is not actually Satanist, I’ve educated myself somewhat since then. But I became disillusioned with our religion at a very early age… Everything seemed to be in conflict, and I couldn’t understand it.” She reached for her glass, swirling the liquid, then taking a sip. “They used to teach us that God is love, and he loves all his children equally. But then they would say ‘God doesn’t love _you_ because you are such-and-such’, and I couldn’t understand that. If He loves all His children, why would He separate them by arbitrary social constructs? And why would He make their life difficult? ‘God is giving you this trial because He loves you,’ they would say. ‘You suffer now because He loves you’, but that didn’t make sense either. Why would you hurt the ones you love?” she paused, and looked down, then spoke quietly, “Why would you let your own son be tortured and killed…” she looked up and saw him smile a bitter smile. “So there I was. Getting nowhere fast. Everyone around me telling me to believe and trust in a deity who seemed to take pleasure in destroying its own creation… And the thing is, I wanted to believe, I really did, I needed to believe in something, because clearly, there was… something. Some cosmic power or other… but I didn’t want to believe in that god. I wanted to believe in that other version, that loving and gentle god, who loved everyone and everything. Not the one who punished humanity for wanting knowledge and being able to tell apart good and evil.” Again that bitter smile graced his face.

“Here,” he reached out his hand to her, “come sit next to me. There’s a few things I’d like to tell you, and I think it would be better if you’re comfortable.”

She took her glass, stood up and circled the table, sitting down next to Crowley. As soon as she did, he put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Now, just to get things straight, God is a She, not a He.” She lifted her gaze to him, her mouth agape. “Yes. And your inner turmoil, is something so… quintessentially human, I think. Questioning injustice, and wanting things to be better. I… I do know that feeling, I must admit. Wondering why humanity must suffer… was the reason I fell.”

“You fell? You were an angel?” she asked, so quietly, as if afraid, but she didn’t know what she was afraid of.

“Well, not so much fell as sauntered vaguely downwards, but… yes. I used to be an angel. I was there in the beginning of it all… I helped create the universe, the stars…” he had a sorrowful look on his face, pain and longing for something irreversibly gone. “But I didn’t feel like following blind orders simply for the sake of the Ineffable Plan," he almost spat the words. "And then you’re cast out, and then you whisper to the first humans that hey, perhaps knowing right from wrong won’t actually be so bad, and next thing you know, the whole thing goes down like a lead balloon.”

“I’m sorry, what?” she said as she scooted a bit from him. “You’re… you’re the…” her mouth dropped and her eyes went wide as realization hit her. The snake tattoo, the snake eyes. “You’re the Serpent from the Garden…” she whispered, then got up from the couch. “Oh my God…” she drank what was left in her glass, then took the bottle, filled her glass, drank it all again… “Holy fuck…” she set the glass back on the table, and just chugged from the bottle.

“You might want to go easy on that,” he said, but she just lifted a finger at him, still drinking from the bottle, looking him right in the eyes.

“Listen…” she said when she finally stopped drinking. “I can handle you being a demon, fallen angel, I can handle that God is a _woman_ , I can even handle that Tartan Party is actually a freaking Angel TM… But I’m gonna need a moment or few to process that you’re _the fucking Serpent from the fucking Garden of Eden_. So excuse me, if I need a drink to help do that.”

“Yes, understandable, but perhaps you shouldn’t drink that much-“ he stopped mid-sentence, as she glared at him in such a way that all he could think was ‘If looks could kill, I’d be thrice dead by now’.

“Never… tell a Slavic person how much they should drink.” She took another gulp from the bottle, and walked out of the room.

She headed towards the bedroom, where she took her jeans from the chair and put them on, then her shoes. She looked in the mirror, smoothed out her hair, and stared deep into her own blue eyes. Finally, she had all the validation she needed, finally she knew the truth, but did it have to happen this way? Her face suddenly went even paler as a thought crossed her mind. She stormed back into the living room, where Crowley was still sat on the couch, whiskey glass in hand, looking at the book on the table. Irina reached out her hand and a gust of wind ruffled the pages, leaving it open on a random page about a coven of dark witches somewhere in Romania.

“So you can control it,” he said, almost indifferently. “I knew the book hovering in the air back in the library was your doing.” He stood up and took a few steps towards her.

“Yes,” she said simply, letting her hand fall back at her side, but not making to move away from him, nor towards him. “Listen… this question is going to be ridiculous, but… I’ve never been in such a situation before… Look, earlier, we didn’t use protection and…” the words felt weird and awkward coming out of her mouth, but she needed to know how big of a shitshow she would need to deal with. “Basically I want to know if I need to be worried about getting pregnant, since I don’t think the usual Plan B pill was designed to cover… demon encounters.” she wanted to look down at the floor, but she didn’t.

“After everything you’ve just learned, _that’s_ what you’re worried about?” he asked, almost amused. Almost relieved. She shot him a look, and he walked closer to her, standing right in front of her. “I promise you, there is no need to worry about that. Or any STDs for that matter, if that was going to be your next question.”

He stood right there, in front of her, looking at her, the auburn hair, the blue eyes, the pale skin, the barely noticeable freckles, the blush that rose to her cheeks at his words.

“I drank too much too quickly,” she said so quietly, he wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear it or not. “I need to lie down,” she said a bit louder and went to the couch where she had been earlier. She lied down, and lifted her feet on the armrest on one end of the couch. “I’m still not sure if this is really happening. It’s unbelievable, literally.”

“I understand it can be taxing on the human mind.” He said calmly, having simply turned towards her. At least she wasn’t running away, he counted that as a win. “We can discuss this at length, if you like. And I might be able to help you with your powers, if… if you’d let me.”

“Yeah, that’s… cool, cool, sounds cool,” she yawned. Too much alcohol too quickly always hit her suddenly, and made her sleepy. She hated it. “We’ll talk… tomorrow… if this is still real by then. Hey, can I have a blanket?”

“A blanket?” with a wave of his hand, a soft blanket appeared on her, and she tugged it up, tucking herself in. Humans were so fascinating. Minutes ago she acted like she could take him in a fight, and now here she was, falling asleep, defenseless on his couch. Just like her wind, he thought, wild one minute then gone the next. He walked a few steps towards her, he wanted to reach down and run his fingers through her hair, but stopped himself. “Sweet dreams, Irina,” he said quietly, took the book from the coffee table, and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, now that you've read it, it's time to admit that I only had a vague idea of where I wanted the chapter to go, so I just took Crowley and Irina by the hands, and let them lead the way. In moments like this I remember my philosophy professor, he once told us that everything that the characters do or say is a deliberate and conscious choice of the writer, and then I laugh and laugh, because, honestly, my dumb fucks have their own ideas of what to do and I'm just along for the ride :D It's kinda like Angus Young and his famous walk, where he gets on stage and just waits to see where his feet take him. I open the document, I scribble down the first few words I know I must have, and what happens after that is a total mystery to me. Well, it brings me joy and if it manages to bring you joy as well then - mission accomplished!   
> As a note, there will be more soft Crowley in the next chapter, or at least I plan there to be (see above). I have a few ideas, so it's just a matter of seeing which ones will make it and which ones won't. Hopefully I'll have it ready and published soon.  
> As always, thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been sitting on this chapter for a few months now, re-reading and editing it to death. But, now I have finally deemed it worthy enough to be read by someone other than my three friends who I constantly nag about it. (Mira, you still haven't read it, I'm calling you out publicly, bitch! Get on it!) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It has some Soft Crowley bc that's what I was feeling like at the time so deal with it. Though I doubt any of you would complain much... Alright, let's get on with it.

As she woke up, she stretched her body, and discovered that she was not on a bed, but on a couch, and the beginning of a headache was brewing in her head. She sat up and rubbed at her temples, as the memories of last night started to slowly clear in her head. Had all of that been real? Anthony Crowley, who she and the whole club thought was a mob boss, was actually a demon, and not just any demon, but the Serpent from the Garden of Eden. And somehow he knew about her clan, and that their last coven had been abandoned a hundred years ago, left well hidden from prying mortal eyes. No other Irinians were known to exist, only her. And he knew all of that, because he was an immortal demon. Who she had slept with. The headache started to spread slowly, and she groaned, getting up, looking at the clock on the wall to notice that it was almost noon. Maybe she had just had a wild dream, maybe he really was just a warlock, and her imagination had went rampant while she slept. Scratching the back of her head, she started towards what she assumed would be the kitchen, as there was a faint smell of coffee coming from there.  
“Good morning,” Crowley said, looking up from a newspaper. He was sitting at a table, a mug of coffee in front of him. He sat down the newspaper, which she doubted he was actually reading. “Or noon, rather. Would you like coffee?” he gestured towards the coffee maker, where a pot of the hot, black liquid was temptingly waiting.  
“Thanks…” she said, and slowly walked over there, taking a mug down from the shelf, filling it with coffee.  
“Sugar’s in the cupboard, milk in the fridge, if you want them.” He was half turned towards her, and she was trying not to be on edge. “There’s some painkillers on the counter-top as well, in case you need them,” he added helpfully.  
“That’s… very thoughtful of you, Crowley,” she said quietly, and took two pills, drinking them with the coffee. She stared at the liquid inside and briefly wondered if demons ever got hangovers. If they could even get drunk at all. She joined him at the table, sitting across from him. “So… About last night…” she had lost count of how many times she’d had to ask that same question. Never did she imagine though that it might have such implications as it carried now. “Did… all of that really happen?” she asked tentatively, almost afraid of the question this time. Of the answer. He simply nodded, looking at her, as if judging whether she was going to bolt for the door or not. “Still a demon?”  
“Still a demon?” he laughed. He’d only ever heard that question once before, and it was still as ridiculous. “Yes, I’m still a demon. Are you still a witch, Irina?”  
“You can… you can call me Ina. You know, to… avoid confusion.” She sipped at her coffee, and kept her gaze to her mug. It was unnerving how identical she was to the clan’s founder. She needed to distance herself from her, for the sake of her own sanity. And, it would be nice to hear him calling her Ina. The nickname saved for only her closest friends. None of which were here.  
“Of course, to avoid confusion.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.  
“Listen, there’s something else I need to know…” she looked up at him, her gaze uncertain, her fingers wrapped around her mug. He lifted his eyebrows, prompting her to go on. “I’ve learned how to stay away from the petty manipulation tricks of human jerkbags, so I easily avoid those, but… I really need to know. Since we met, have you done anything, anything at all, to mess with me? With, you know, my judgment, with what I want?” her eyes shied away from him for a second, but then she tentatively looked back at him. Her relationships with a lot of the people around her had been manipulative, and she had been the victim of it too many times. Even with her own family… She blinked, willing the memories away as they threatened to become tears.  
“You’re asking if I magically manipulated your will to bring you here and have you sleep with me?” she nodded sheepishly. “Oh, Ina…” she had only said a few words, but they were enough to paint him a picture of her past relationships, and that picture was not pretty. “I have not. I didn’t magically influence you in any way, I would never do such a thing. I’m a big supporter of people making their own choices," a bitter smile appeared on his face. "All the decisions you’ve made while with me, were all your own. No meddling from anyone.” He looked her in the eyes.  
“So… any feelings I might have for you, are all… real?” she held his gaze, despite her fight-or-flight instinct telling her to screw this and run away never looking back.  
“Do you… have any feelings for me?” it was a dangerous question, they both knew. But it wasn’t at all uncommon for humans to sleep with people they didn’t have feelings for. Crowley had certainly had his fair share of such encounters. So had Irina. “I would appreciate it if you answered honestly.” Something like hurt flickered in the demon’s eyes for a split second, then was gone.  
“Honestly? … I don’t know…” she looked up at him, her eyes scared and confused. She looked as if she was searching for something in his face. “While I can’t deny that I definitely feel something… some pull towards you… my head is… a real mess right now. And it's not just because of the hangover. Just last night I thought I could finally find my other family, but… they’re… gone. They turned their back on what they are. That in itself was a lot to take in, and then with you and the whole… ‘religion is actually real, and oh, by the way, God is a woman and I’m the Serpent’ thing, it’s just…” she sighed. “Don’t get me wrong Crowley, you are very attractive, and surprisingly gentlemanly, but… Suddenly there’s a lot more on my plate than I can handle. I’m gonna need time, if I wanna sort out my feelings.”  
“I see.” He said calmly. “Well, I gladly offer myself to help in any way I can, if you’d have me.” He moved his hand across the table, reaching for her, but stopping a few inches away.  
“You know… I think I would like that.” She tentatively reached for his hand, holding it in her own. “It would be nice to… have you. As a friend,” she teased with a smile. There was a part of her saying that she also wanted the benefits, not just the friend. She told that part to shove it for a second.  
He had definitely behaved way better than she would expect from any human guy. He had offered to help her with her magic, which she could really use. And, she had to admit, the sex really had been amazing. And the kisses, and waking up in his arms hadn’t been half bad either, surprisingly. What stunned her most when she thought about it was that she felt safe with him.  
“Ina?” his voice sounded gentle. “Look, I realize it’s all a mess for you, and I realize last night was… more of a spur of the moment thing. So I just want to tell you that, until you figure out your feelings, we’ll just be friends. I won’t be making any advances on you. Until you are ready, if you are ever ready.” His voice was reassuring, and yet some part of her was disappointed at his words, some primal, ancient, animalistic part that sang in his presence and craved more.  
“I never thought that the Serpent would be such a gentleman,” she teased. “Thank you, Crowley.” She said quietly, before returning to sipping her coffee.  
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, having him as a friend. And the future was still unwritten.  
*  
The very next day she was back at Tartan Party’s bookstore, to search for more witch-related literature, perhaps some grimoires, anything that would be of use to her.  
As soon as the bell above the door rang, the angel appeared and stopped himself mid-greeting.  
“Oh, it’s… you,” he said quietly. “Hello, Irina. I was wondering if you were going to come back here.” His voice was soft, calming. Angelic.  
“So… I should assume Crowley told you everything?” she said with a blush on her cheeks.  
“My dear, any … personal business you may have with him is your own, and does not concern me, as long as you do not wish to harm him.”  
“I would never, sir…” she began but he cut her off.  
“Just Aziraphale is fine, dear, no need for formalities. We are friends now, aren’t we?” he smiled, and his smile made her feel like she was safe from all the evil in the world. “Now, he did mention your heritage, and I took the liberty of preparing a few books, in case you should want to learn more,” he pointed to a stack of old books on a desk, all of them in old Slavic languages from the look of it.  
“I would very much like to do that, but… Can I trust you, Aziraphale? I mean, really trust you? Enough to know you won’t tell Crowley about the conversation that we’re having? I promise there will be no harm of any sort to him,” she said, and the angel looked at her for a few seconds, as if looking for something, then appearing to find it, and smiled.  
“Of course, my dear. I’m here to help.”  
*  
A few hours later, Irina headed home with a backpack full to the brim with books and grimoires, then stayed up really late reading them and trying to practice on her own.  
*  
A couple of days later, she received a vague text from an unknown number. “I’m waiting outside” was all it said. She looked through her window, and was a bit surprised to see the Bentley parked out front, with Crowley leaning against the hood. He noticed her and waved, then motioned for her to come down.  
“I should have known,” she mumbled to herself, then went to put on her sneakers and grabbed her bag, locked the door behind her and took the stairs down three at a time.  
“Hello, there,” he greeted when she emerged from the building and she had to bite back an obscure sci-fi reference as a reply. “I’ve come to take you on a field trip,” he said, and then as she came a bit closer, he added, whisper-yelling, “to learn magic.”  
“How did you even get my number and address, you fiend?” she jokingly bumped his arm with her fist.  
“Ah, a demon has his ways,” he said and opened the passenger door for her. “Milady,” he beckoned, like a proper gentlemen from times gone by.  
“You are such a dork,” she laughed, and got in the car.  
*  
He drove them to a forest, way outside of town, a very respectable distance from any humans who might be bothered or endangered by their “classes”. The first thing he tried to explain to her was how to feel the magic around her and harness it within herself. Then how to try and manifest it, and she made a lovely tiny hurricane in her palm, upon which she jumped with joy and hugged him, before quickly letting him go and fixing her clothes, trying to fight the blood rushing to her cheeks. After that, he stood himself behind her, taking her arms in his and guiding them in slow, measured movements, so that she could better feel the air, how it flowed and how to control it. It didn’t go very well the first few times, as she had to fight to keep her focus on her magic, instead of all the other places it was running to, as she willed a tidal wave to drown the butterflies in her stomach.  
Days passed where they adhered to this similar routine, but unbeknownst to him she was secretly training with Aziraphale, too, so she could explore a broader range for her magic, and have a teacher she didn’t feel so confused about. Aziraphale had discovered that she was also a very gifted healer, and decided that they should focus on that aspect of her magic.  
For all the other magic she wanted to learn, she trained by herself, in the privacy of her apartment. Slowly, but steadily, she could feel herself getting stronger, more focused and centered, more balanced. She felt the ancient power hum in her veins, the call of the old magic.  
And with every passing lesson she had with Crowley, she could feel herself sinking a little deeper, seeing different sides of him, sides she didn’t expect to exist. Her defenses were slowly crumbling and she wondered if his were, too. She was stealing glances at him whenever she could, admiring him, the sleek line of his jaw, the red of his hair, the nimbleness of his long fingers… She was starting to think that any feelings he might have had for her were long gone, after that one night of passion and drinking, after all their lessons, and the multiple times she had ended up falling on her ass or her face due to her magic going wild and wrong.  
But while she was caught up in her own web of confliction, what she didn’t notice were the glances he was stealing at her, the longing hidden behind his sunglasses, how his laughter changed just the tiniest bit when she made a joke, the way his smile was warmer, with something more hidden behind it, something he was guarding and keeping locked inside of him, just as he had promised her he would, until and if she decided differently. Late at night he would walk around his flat and sigh deeply after taking a sip of his whiskey, thinking that he should count himself lucky the girl even wanted to be friends after having learned the truth about him.  
They managed to convince themselves that having a friendship like theirs was better than having nothing, and didn’t bother to hint to each other about their feelings, and so their training went on for a few months. Both of them happy yet sad, both of them clutching their truth close to their chests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I couldn't resist putting in a tiny bit of angst and pain, because obviously I'm still me and (not so) secretly evil. I'd love to hear any feedback you have, or opinions, or praise (yes, I'm modest.) As a treat for you, I will tease that chapters 8 and 9 are also finished and ready to see the world, but they will be uploaded after a few days.  
> Pls interact with me and my fic, I'm losing my mind.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed and I'll see you guys with the next chapter in a few days!


	8. Chapter 8

Two months after they had started training, Irina suddenly started pretending to be very busy at work, and school, and with her friends, and her lessons with Crowley stopped. She would lock herself home, close the curtains, and practice her magic. Practice her dancing. Work herself sore, until she no longer had to think about the feeling growing inside of her, about the way not only her magic but her whole body hummed when Crowley was near. How she could feel her magic calling out for him, her body calling out for him, desire coiling inside of her, deep in the pit of her stomach, until she had to force herself to take a break from him, at least for a while. At least until she could get herself in order.  
Luckily for her, during the time they were practicing, and the few weeks where she was ghosting him, he hadn’t shown up at the club. That let her eventually start playing with her power during performances, a little breeze here, gentle wind flowing through her hair there, stunning the patrons and earning herself a great deal more tips than before. One evening though, she went out on stage, the spotlight on her, music filling the space, and her gaze swept over the club, as it always did, but then it caught and stopped, and her breath hitched in her throat. In his booth in the back, there he was. Her heart skipped a few beats at once, then beat faster. She knew he’d be requesting a private dance later, and in that moment decided that she was looking forward to it. There was no point in denial and avoidance anymore, let the chips fall where they may. As soon as she had finished her dance and gone backstage, there was a waitress to alert her that a private dance had been requested. Smiling to herself, trying not to feel like a nervous, lovestruck schoolgirl, she went to the dressing room to fix her make-up and hair, and headed towards the backstage door for the room, hoping her faked bravado would hold on long enough.  
*  
The look on his face when she emerged from the curtains was almost reverence. Her skin pale under the lights, her auburn hair falling in loose curls, the mask she wore, white this time, to match the lace of her bodice, gleamed and sparkled as she smiled, leaning against the pole.  
“I was beginning to miss our little meetings here, I must admit,” she said, giving a crooked smile, hoping it wouldn’t break. Hoping he wouldn’t ask why she had been avoiding him.  
“I heard there was a dancer here making it feel like winds were sweeping the place, like she was flying rather than dancing.” His voice was half disappointed, but half impressed at the rumors, the development of her powers they suggested.  
“Don’t worry,” she straightened up, “I haven’t gone beyond anything that can’t be explained with special effects. And people are a lot more gullible than you’d think.” She waved a hand in the general direction of the small camera in the corner of the room, installed mostly for the girls’ safety, and a few sparks flew, the camera dying. “Wouldn’t have been safe to have them listen,” she said, and added mentally, or watch. A gentle thrum went through her body, and she smiled. Her magic was calling for him, her body was coming alive.  
“You’ve been practicing without me, it seems. How powerful have you become?” he mused.  
“Hmmmm,” she almost purred. “A lot… and not enough.” She could feel that ancient part of her waking up, coiling around her, singing in the presence of Crowley, his power. “I’ve still got a long way to go, to make my namesake proud.”  
“By using your magic to get more tips?” he asked, and she grinned like a wolf. “And why haven’t I seen any of the new and improved performances?” she felt the jab in the question, the underlying meaning of it - why have you been avoiding me? But she did her best to keep a poker face and bluff her way out of it. That topic, specifically, was not one she was willing to discuss right now.  
“You almost sound like you’re jealous, Crowley, which I know you can’t be, because we agreed to just be friends. And that there wouldn’t be anything sexual between us for the time being. And I think these dances are relatively sexual.” She stepped down from the stage, trying to ignore the anger and hurt on his face, at the truth of her words. The offer he himself had made, thinking that she’d probably be out of his life by now and he wouldn’t have to deal with the sexual tension.  
“Yes, well, still, I should know exactly how much of your power you’re using and revealing,” he stuttered, as she walked directly towards him, taking off her mask and letting it fall to the floor as she went. “What are you doing?” he asked when she stood directly in front of him, the velvet couch suddenly uncomfortable under him.  
“It’s been so long since we met like this…” she drawled, lifting a leg and placing her knee on one side of him, “Remember last time, Crowley?” she asked, her voice like silk, and her other knee was now on the other side of him, “You were seated just like this, and I – like this,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, hands reaching to the back of his head, pushing his glasses forward and taking them off, laying them on the side of the couch. “When you asked me what I was, perhaps knowing I wasn’t like the others. When you let me glimpse what you are,” she leaned in, and whispered in his ear, “the witch and the serpent, and all the world blind to their truth.” She felt him shift under her, and she let out a little sigh, bringing her body lower, her hips rolling against his lap. She felt him pressing against her, heard him grumble a curse as she moved against him again, then she kissed his neck, right under his jaw. A soft moan escaped his lips.  
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, breathless, his hands not even touching her. Still true to the promise he’d made her, even though all he wanted to do was touch her all over.  
“Remember when I told you I’d need time to sort out how I feel for you?” she asked, pulling back a bit to look at his face. He nodded. “Time’s up,” she said, her voice now husky, and she leaned towards him, kissing him. A soft brush against his lips, as her own moved tentatively, gauging his reaction. She held the kiss, her fingers twining in his hair, and she felt his whole body relax under her, his hands now on her back, as he returned the kiss, pulling her closer. She moaned, and parted her lips, their tongues meeting, exploring, almost lazily at first, but then she moved against him again, and he growled, deepening the kiss. Demanding more, hungry and wanting, she pressed herself closer to him and still it wasn’t close enough, so she ran a hand down his chest and his shirt came undone without her even touching the buttons. He pulled away.  
“You’ve really been practicing,” he said, breathing in all the air he could. Then he looked at the camera, and a spark lit his eyes, as he asked, “You planned this, didn’t you?”  
“As soon as I saw you in that booth tonight, I knew. I knew I had to finally tell you.” She kissed him again, just a soft, gentle kiss, as she savored the feeling. She only pulled enough to say, “You may not have fallen, Serpent, but I sure did. For you.” She could swear she felt his body tremble under her.  
“Say it,” he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper, “please, say it…”  
“I love you, Crowley,” she whispered softly in his ear. He buried his face in her hair, nuzzled her neck, wished for this moment to last forever. The scent of her, apples, and mint, and a hint of cinnamon. He breathed her in, as if his very immortality depended on it. As if all the millennia he’d lived had been leading up to this moment. As if this was all he’d ever wanted, needed. His hand found its way to the back of her neck, gently pulling her closer as he locked their lips together, a soft moan escaping her as she pressed closer to him, her hands already working on removing the unbuttoned shirt from his body.  
“Wait,” he said suddenly, her hands halting mid-movement, the shirt half off his shoulders already. Confusion filled her eyes, and her lips turned in a small pout.  
“I thought you wanted this too…” she said, slowly removing her hands and pulling her arms back to her body, fighting the urge to wrap them around herself, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “I thought that…”  
“I do,” he said and reached for her hands, taking them in his, and squeezing gently, “I do want it, but Ina… I want this to be different. As much as I’d love to have you here, then once more in the car, and then again when we go back to my place…” she shifted on top of him, feeling heat coiling in her stomach at his words and the hunger burning in his eyes, “I’d much rather do this more… properly this time. I don’t want this to feel like a cheap hook-up.” He reached to caress her face, run his fingers through her hair, then lifted himself up a bit, and whispered in her ear, “I want to show you what it feels like to be worshiped the way you deserve…”  
“Crowley…” she breathed, trying to control the shivers that ran down her spine. She felt like she would melt in his arms.  
“What do you say? Do you want to get out of here?” she nodded, and gave him back his glasses. “I’ll wait for you out back,” he said, and helped her ease herself off him.  
She looked at him with longing in her eyes, then hurriedly disappeared behind the curtains. With a wave of his hand, the camera was working again, and his shirt was buttoned up. Then, he was out the door, hurrying to the Bentley.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what everyone has been waiting for.

Even though the Bentley was defying all known laws of physics and moving way above the speed limit, Irina felt like this was the longest it had ever taken to get anywhere with a car. Of course, in truth this was the quickest she'd ever moved in a car through this city, but the wait and anticipation was killing her. When they finally arrived, the steps to enter the building and the elevator were taken in a rush, both her and Crowley eager to get to the apartment. As soon as he had closed the flat's door behind her, he pushed her up against it and claimed her neck in a passionate kiss. A sound came out of her that was both a sigh of relief and pleasure. While his mouth was focused on her neck, gently sucking and biting, his hands were working to remove her jacket. She gently pushed him off her for a moment and took the jacket off herself, while kicking off her shoes, and then made quick work of removing Crowley's jacket, and unbuttoning his shirt the same way she had done back in the club.

"You're cheating," he smirked, then took her hand and lead her towards the bedroom.

"Only because you taught me to," she teased, and before she knew it, her legs had hit the bed, and she laid down, Crowley crawling on top of her. "I find clothes to be quite bothersome in the current situation, so I tried to remedy the issue, and show off my skills."

"Magic is well and good but I told you," he said while gently pulling her shirt above her head, "I will show you what it's like to be worshiped. And in this sensual endeavor, my darling, rushed magic will not suffice..." he then started trailing kisses down her neck, then to her breasts, slowly moving over her abdomen.

Her breaths were quick and shallow, the culmination of months of tension finally within her grasp, and her heart was beating like a jackhammer. Small sounds escaped her lips as he placed kisses on her abs, his teeth slightly grazing the skin. He unbuttoned her jeans, and slowly pulled them down her legs, then threw them to the floor. He was on his knees on the bed, looking at the girl lying in front of him. This time she wore red underwear, all lace, and he imagined her as a painting - her pale skin on the red sheets, the red lace, her auburn hair spread like a halo beneath her head. She looked divine. His hands caressed her calves, as his fingers slowly traveled up her soft skin, to her thighs, then up her waist, over her ribs. As she arched her back, he slid his hands under her, quickly undoing her bra and gently sliding it off, before discarding it to the side. He leaned down and kissed her, passionately and slowly, and she took the opportunity to remove his shirt, then unbuckle his belt and unbutton his trousers. Through the kiss, he smiled at her eagerness, and he understood her, he felt the same burning need that she did, but this was not the time to rush into things, he'd decided. Slowly, his kisses moved down her neck again, where his teeth grazed the skin, eliciting a moan of approval, at which he sunk his teeth into her flesh, gently at first, but the soft moans coming from her throat and her nails clawing at his back showed her encouragement. Almost disappointed, he left her neck to move further down, as he placed soft kisses on her breasts, then took a nipple in his mouth and sucked, while his hand massaged her other breast. He felt her hand snake between them, as she made to touch herself, but he grabbed her wrist.

"I said there would be no cheating tonight, you little fiend," he said, his voice low and gravelly. 

"Since I'm misbehaving so much, maybe you should restrain me," she teased, and then next thing she knew, her hands were above her head, tied to the headboard with silk scarves. "I thought you said no cheating."

"Oh, _you're_ not allowed to cheat. I am, if it's for your pleasure."

"I knew I couldn't trust a snake not to cheat," she joked, while playfully pulling on her restraints. "Guess I'll just have to keep a close eye on you," she said, and managed to summon a small breeze with her fingers, which knocked off Crowley's glasses.

"And now I know that I shouldn't trust a witch not to bend the rules," he said, leaned close to her ear and whispered, "so maybe we'll remedy the issue a bit more." As he said that, a blindfold appeared over her eyes.

She took in a surprised breath, her vision now blocked by another silk scarf gently touching her skin, but not allowing for any peaking, even after she moved her head around and tried to dislodge it. She heard Crowley chuckle softly at her attempts, amused by her refusal to comply. His fingers caressed her jawline, and he briefly kissed her lips, before distancing himself enough from her so that she wouldn't be able to feel him. After a few moments, she felt the bed shift, and then his lips were kissing along her ribcage, his nails lightly and lazily grazing the skin along her other side. As his lips and hands traveled lower, she cursed herself for picking the flimsy lace, as she was sure it was doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that she was already soaking wet. Of course, Crowley had noticed that, he could smell the arousal, clinging to her skin, the heat coming from her body, as she tried to move herself to get more contact with him, and he deftly moved in ways that prevented it. His fingers hooked at the edges of her lace panties, and he slowly dragged them down her legs, before tossing them to the side. Her breathing quickened, the anticipation and not knowing, not seeing what he would do next were only increasing her desire and chipping away at what little was left of her self control. She felt him gently take her leg with one hand as he started kissing along her calf, slowly moving up, to her inner thigh, where he got maddeningly close to the place she wanted him most, but he was unrelenting in his teasing, merely passing over her clit, and all she felt against the sensitive skin was his hot breath, before he moved on to placing kisses on the inside of her other thigh. She sighed in exasperation and desperation, slightly thrusting her hips up, but he gently pushed her body down, and continued his trail of kisses, now going back up again, over her abdomen, her breasts, her neck, until he claimed her mouth in a deep, breathtaking kiss.

"You're going to drive me mad..." she whispered when their lips parted, and was sure that there was a smug smile on his face.

"I told you I would take this slow, and treat you the way you deserve," he said softly.

"Look at me, I'm at your mercy, naked and bound, and soaking wet... Please..." she shifted under him, arching so she could feel the skin of his chest against hers. "Please, Crowley..."

"Well, maybe just a little something to sate your growing hunger," he drawled, mouth nibbling on her earlobe, as his hand traveled down her body, to her slit, as he slowly slid two fingers inside her, then stopped. "How's this?" he asked teasingly, but Ina's only response was to move her hips so she could get some traction. "Or... is this better?" he said softly, as his fingers started moving slowly, and she met his movements with her hips, trying to feel him deeper inside.

"Crowley, please... enough with the worship, enough with the teasing, I'm begging you..."

"Oh, just a little more..." he said, and removed her blindfold. She saw him standing there, looking at his fingers, coated with her slick, as he mused, seemingly to himself, "I wonder what you taste like..." 

"Crowley..." She pleaded, and he moved, lowering himself, spreading her legs to make space for himself, as he admired the view, how wet he had made her, the burning desire in her eyes as she stared him down. "Devour me," she whispered, and he obliged, with a long lick across her wet core. A loud moan escaped her lips, as she threw her head back and tried to tug on the restraints on her wrists, but to no avail.

He continued with a few more lazy licks down her center, before sliding his fingers inside her again, and instead focusing his tongue on the sensitive bundle of nerves, while his fingers pumped. He could feel her start to tremble, her moans becoming louder and wilder, her nails digging into her palms, she could feel the build up quickly leading her to the edge, as she tried to hold on for as long as she could, bit his lips closed around her clit and he gently sucked, while his fingers pumped, and she let herself go. Her moan was deep and long, and music to Crowley's ears, as he felt her contracting around his fingers, while he continued to gently move them, bringing her down from her high. She looked at him, his smug smile, the lust raging in his eyes matching her own.

"Kiss me," she said, and he moved up and locked their lips together.

She could taste herself on his lips, on his tongue, and it drove her wild. She pulled at her restraints one last time, and they came undone with a gust of wind. Ina tangled her fingers in Crowley's hair, deepening the kiss, but suddenly, she pulled away. As they were both fighting for breath, she looked him in the eyes and smiled, like a hungry wolf who found its prey. She pushed him back, and as he fell on the bed, she straddled him, pleased to find that he was already fully naked, and waiting for her. She aligned his tip at her entrance and eased herself on top of him with a deep moan. He sucked in a breath and hissed with pleasure at the feeling of her around him. She started to move her hips, slowly at first, then her movements became quicker. She marveled at the sight of him beneath her, his eyes roaming her body, his mouth parted in pleasure, his toned chest moving with his quick breaths. As she felt herself getting closer to the edge again, she put her hands around his neck and gently squeezed. His eyes got wider as he locked them with hers, and a devious smile spread across his face as he grabbed her hip and dug in his nails, while his other hand moved to rub her clit. She squeezed a bit tighter, her movements faster, as he met her thrust for thrust, the friction of the touch against the sensitive bundle of nerves driving her closer and closer, and then he hit a spot that had her seeing stars, and she felt like she would burst apart at the seams, a wave of pleasure erupted through her whole body, and she trembled, her walls contracting around Crowley's member, her hands still tight around his neck, loud moans coming from deep inside her. Moments later, he came undone under her, his body also trembling, as a low, deep moan fought its way past his lips. She loosened her grip on his neck, as she continued moving slowly, riding out their orgasms. She let go of his neck, and climbed off, falling on the bed next to him, and tried to steady her breathing, while the last tiny waves of pleasure slowly rippled off and left her feeling exhausted in the most satisfying way.

"You cheated," he breathed.

"Didn't hear you complaining while I was on top of you," she said teasingly, still out of breath.

"Fair enough," he said as he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. Ina placed her head on his chest, and listened to his heartbeat slowly resume its steady rhythm. "Devious little witch," he said affectionately, as he made a blanket appear on top of them.

"Seductive serpent," she teased, but lifted her head and met his gaze. "I love you," she said softly.

"I love you, too," he replied and gently kissed her on the lips, then pulled her even closer, as she snuggled her body against him.

His fingers started lazily tracing patterns on her back, and when he felt her fall asleep, he let himself drift off as well, hoping that this was real and the beautiful witch laying next to him would still be there when he woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, now you've read it. Please let me know what you think with comments, any type will do, honestly. This was supposed to be just a self serving one-shot, but I went a bit overboard. Oops. I've got the next chapters currently brewing in my noggin, so hopefully I'll be able to write them down soon enough.  
> See you in the next chapter, babes.


End file.
